The One Who Cleaves the Stele

Player Talk erupted into chaos the moment the sudden announcement appeared.

Five cities were connected to the Mountain of the Cultivator.

Including the mercenary city of Cartel, every one of them was a neutral city.

Word was that the resurrection of Baal of the Four Calamities had thrown every neutral city linked to the Mountain of the Cultivator into a state of emergency.

BOOM!

Laktusha, slammed into the ground, forced himself back to his feet.

"Guh—!"

Blood came with the breath — black, corrupted blood.

"…Interesting."

Laktusha bared his teeth in a grin.

So this was a being once called one of the Four Calamities. The claim that it was stronger than even the White King or the Black King had clearly not been empty boasting.

It's strong, no question. But still.

It had deflected his sword qi and driven a curse deep into his lungs. His head swam. If he hadn't thrown up a counter-wave of sword force in that single instant, he would have been dead on the spot.

A mere insect cannot be stronger than the Black King.

Darker, denser sword qi poured from every inch of Laktusha's body.

In the end, it had failed to kill him. That meant the Calamity would die by his hand instead.

Laktusha concentrated his sword qi even further.

Crack.

Crrrack!

Every muscle in his body swelled as if on the verge of exploding, and his frame began to balloon outward.

RRRRIP!

By ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the Black King's grace, Laktusha had already broken past the limits of an orc. Now, with a giant's body fully claimed, he slowly rolled his shoulders and loosened his joints.

As expected. This grace is extraordinary.

Armed with a giant's physique and anti-demonic resistance, he no longer feared the Calamity's curse. The curse of a mere insect could not touch him in the slightest.

All of it was thanks to the Black King's grace — a power of cataclysmic upheaval that transcended species itself.

GROOOOOOAR—

The vicious eyes of Baal of the Four Calamities locked onto Laktusha.

"…"

The moment I stepped out of the temple, I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠found myself connected to the summit of the Mountain of the Cultivator.

I looked around — and for a moment, words failed me.

Chaos didn't begin to cover it.

Fallen cultivators lay scattered everywhere. The mountain itself had been reduced to a wasteland of ruin. Far in the distance, a colossal beast that could only be Baal of the Four Calamities was locked in combat with some kind of giant.

"A giant?"

Wait. Why was there a giant here?

And honestly, I wasn't sure "combat" was the right word.

"…A punching bag."

A punching bag with excellent durability — that felt more accurate. Maybe because of how much surface area it had, but the Calamity was thrashing it with cheerful abandon.

I rubbed my temples against a sudden wave of dizziness.

The giant's level was a full thirteen.

That was a level the entire mountain's population could throw themselves at and still fail to scratch. It was only getting beaten up right now — but this was a genuine monster, a cut above even the Four Lords of Kramdel.

And even that giant was being completely overwhelmed by the Calamity.

The Calamity's level was nothing but question marks.

Unreadable.

But still—

Is that really an incomplete resurrection?

…The fact that this was supposedly an incomplete resurrection of a Calamity was somehow even more chilling.

How strong would a complete one be, then?

I shook my head.

This is beyond anything I can handle.

There was no solution right now.

For the moment… I needed to get out.

I started walking, and before long a familiar figure entered my field of view.

A beastman wearing hide identical to the White King's.

The White King's child?

That was the first thought that struck me. No beastman besides the White King himself possessed white tiger hide this pure. And all around her, the ground was littered with the marks of cultivators who had fallen trying to protect her.

She was clearly someone special.

I carefully hoisted her onto my back.

"Gicheonseok?"

My eyes were drawn to a stone standing not far away. It was clearly made of the same material as the ones in the temple — a Gicheonseok. The surface was rough and scored with what looked like sword marks, so it was subtly different, but it was worth checking.

I raised my sword and cut.

CRRRACK!

The stone that had seemed like a Gicheonseok split cleanly down the middle and crumbled apart.

"Hmm. Guess not."

Not the same as the temple's Gicheonseok, then.

I clicked my tongue softly and moved a little farther — and a man sprawled on the ground with a spear came into view.

This is the spearman.

I knew it on instinct. The shape of the spear matched the silhouette I had faced in the darkness.

I hoisted the spearman as well, then began my descent down the mountain.

"Gahk!"

Laktusha spat a fistful of black blood.

"Damn it."

Facing the Calamity alone was clearly beyond him. Even with the grace that had let him transcend his species, the opponent was still one of the Four Calamities.

I can't do this alone.

He was certain of it. To kill that beast, he would need at least two more fighters of equal caliber.

He would report to the Black King, then give the matter of dealing with the Calamity separate thought.

Retreat for now.

Laktusha looked up toward the mountain's summit. He could not leave empty-handed. At the very least, he needed to take the White King's daughter with him — otherwise he would lose face entirely.

He climbed the mountain at speed, only to find his expression twisting.

"…Where did she go?"

Aria was gone. The spearman was nowhere to be seen either.

Had they come to their senses in the meantime and fled? But the base of the mountain was crawling with his subordinates. Escape would not have been easy.

"………What's that?"

Then Laktusha's eyes fell on a stele split cleanly in two.

If it had been an ordinary rock, he would have ignored it. But that stele was the one he himself had carved his sword marks into.

Why was it broken in half?

Did the Calamity smash it?

He shook his head at once. If the Calamity had destroyed it, the traces would never have been this clean.

Laktusha examined the cut surface of the stele, and his face hardened.

"………………In a single stroke. With a sword. Cleaved straight through."

These were the marks of a sword cut. And not just any cut — a single stroke.

A stele that even he had only managed to leave sword scars on had been sliced clean through in one blow.

Who in the world—?

Someone whose swordsmanship surpassed even his own — and he had already transcended the Sword Saint?

"That's impossible…!"

It made no sense. It was impossible.

Laktusha's pupils trembled violently — far more shaken than he had been while facing the Calamity itself.

Laktusha — the greatest warrior among the orcs, revered as a Swordmaster. His renown as the next Orc Lord had been towering even before he came of age. At least among those who held a sword, he had never known defeat.

An unmatched genius?

That didn't begin to cover it.

Unprecedented. Unparalleled. The one and only swordsman who had never existed before and would never exist again.

Everyone who witnessed Laktusha's swordsmanship praised him with one voice. And Laktusha himself, if asked who the greatest swordsman was, would have answered that there was no one but himself.

Sword God…

…He had believed no such thing existed.

And yet the sword marks that had cut the stele refused to leave his mind.

A Sword God. If such a being existed, it would be one called a god of the blade itself.

But for such a person to appear on the Mountain of the Cultivator, cut a single stele, and vanish — that was decidedly strange.

Could it have been someone sent by the White King?

None of the White King's subordinates wield a sword with any ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠real depth.

The Four Lords were the same. Dae-to-ryong, the Death King, the Bow Fiend, Medusa — none of them were weapon masters.

Then who?

If not someone sent by the White King — who had saved the White King's daughter and cleaved that stele in a single stroke?

If it's Aria, the White King's daughter — she would know.

He had to resolve this question. Laktusha's pride had been crushed — the pride of a swordsman he had honed across an entire lifetime. Only by uncovering the identity of the Sword God could he restore what had been trampled.

GROOOOOAR!

A tail laden with curse coiled around Laktusha in an instant, as if declaring it would not let him leave quietly. The vicious curse pouring from three tails began to pierce through even a giant's anti-demonic resistance.

Crrrack!

"…You miserable bastard!"

Laktusha pushed the Black King's grace to its absolute maximum.

Aria felt as though she were dreaming.

After being subdued by Laktusha, she had suddenly been filled with curse from head to toe by the appearance of Baal of the Four Calamities.

A Calamity.

She could not understand why one of the four primordial monsters had suddenly appeared on the Mountain of the Cultivator. But she could not resist it either. That curse was a force that laid waste to everything around it — a power far too vicious for Aria, still walking the cultivator's path, to withstand.

I am a genius…

But what had driven her into even deeper despair was Laktusha himself.

Swordmaster Laktusha had toyed with her as if handling a child. It was not merely the humiliation of being overwhelmed by raw stats. Laktusha had deliberately lowered his own ability, matched her level, and faced her with pure swordsmanship alone. On top of that, he had left scars deeper than even the Sword Saint's — a crushing demonstration of the gulf in skill.

A sky above the sky.

Was Laktusha not the true genius?

But… the stele was cut…

And yet she had witnessed a Sword God who surpassed even that Laktusha.

The cultivator's stele — which responded only to sword proficiency level — had been cleanly sliced in half by a single stroke.

The human I saw in the Chaos Cultivator domain.

The human who had defeated the spearman and scattered brilliant sword qi. She had tried to pursue him, only for him to vanish over a cliff's edge, beyond her reach.

That same human had suddenly reappeared, saved her, and cut the stele.

Cutting the stele meant he stood at a far higher stage of ascent than even the Sword Saint or Laktusha.

A tradition passed down on the Mountain of the Cultivator. Content recorded in the journals left behind by the Sword Saint.

Aria had effectively ruled the Mountain of the Cultivator for a time, and so she had been able to access texts related to the Sword Saint. Those texts clearly contained passages about "the one who cleaves the stele."

At first, she had not understood what any of it meant. Was some extraordinary sword buried somewhere on this Mountain of the Cultivator?

But perhaps the Sword Saint had known all along.

The most powerful and vicious sword.

Was that not the beast itself — Baal of the Four Calamities?

The Sword Saint had said that only one who could cut the cultivator's stele could command Baal. Of course, simply cutting the stele would not be enough to control a Calamity.

The Master of the Sword was clearly the man carrying her on his back.

On the verge of losing consciousness once more, Aria drew from her robes a single volume left behind by the Sword Saint and pressed it into the man's hands.